


twin size mattress

by almondmilk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Comfort Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trans Character, ish, sad sad handjobs, yah thats a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almondmilk/pseuds/almondmilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This isn’t about me, Connie.” Armin says. </p><p>He sits back on his legs, trailing his hands down to the waist of Connie’s trousers, meeting his red, tear-filled eyes. </p><p>“It’s about you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	twin size mattress

**Author's Note:**

> uhh maybe i should mention, this has some manga spoilers, particularly post chapter 51 seein as ........ thats when this is set .......... so yeah watch out!!!

The hard floor makes his ass ache and the cold wind bites at his ears and cheeks, but Connie can’t bring himself to care. He sits alone in the stables; surrounded by the sounds of the horses neighing and nickering, knees tucked to his chest for warmth, nails digging crescent-shaped furrows into his palms. He opens his hands, flexing his fingers, and stares at the marks, studying them closely, before curling his hands into fists again. He concentrates on digging as hard as he can into the skin. Bitten to rough, ragged edges; his nails are too blunt to cause him any real pain. He wishes it weren’t so.

He’s had a rough week.

Everything up to this point had been slowly wearing away at Connie’s resolve. His family, his village, everything with Reiner and Bertholdt - Bertholdt, who he admired, but was always so intensely jealous of, and Reiner, with his strong arms and booming laugh and sandy hair and gravelly voice –

“Fuck,” Connie chokes, resting his head on his knees. Reiner is not his friend. Reiner is a traitor. Reiner saved him, Reiner coached him and guided him and laughed with him, but Reiner betrayed him. Reiner betrayed everyone. Connie still struggles to believe it. He doesn’t want to.

He bites back a sob, shoulders shaking violently. He tears his thoughts away from Reiner’s traitorous words and face and hands and smile, but his mind only wanders to more recent horrors. Images resurface in his mind that he does not want to see. Images of his house, crushed to splinters by a titan bearing the face of his mother. A titan, who had stared him down, greeted him with garbled speech.

_“Welcome home.”_

Throughout the investigation into his village, the meeting with Commander Smith, and the carriage ride to the countryside spent in awkward silence with Captain Levi, Connie had been dangling on the edge of breaking point.

He couldn’t hold it in a second longer.

Hot tears spill from his eyes, sobs and gasps wracking his short frame, fingers clenching and grasping at the ground beneath him. He drives his fist into a stable wall, startling one of the horses. He hopes for blood on his knuckles and splinters in his skin. He’s thankful that he’s alone. He doesn’t think he could face any of the others in this state, though they must know he’s arrived by now, so he doesn’t have long before he has to speak to _somebody_. He doubts he could maintain the composure needed to deal with anyone. He’s scared and he’s angry and he’s miserable, and he feels so fucking stupid. Stupid for trusting Reiner and Bertholdt, stupid for believing everything was going to be okay, stupid for not knowing what to do or who to talk to.

Captain Levi cares for his men, but doesn’t handle comfort all that elegantly, or so Connie has heard. Christa – no, Historia – has enough on her mind, Connie thinks. He might not like Ymir much, but she’s important to her, and she’s gone, possibly another traitor. He knows all too well what that feels like. Jean is his friend, but certainly isn’t an option. His relationship with Sasha has never been the kind that involves anything but pranks and fart jokes. Pranks and fart jokes would be good for him, but he does not want them. Eren’s got much more to deal with, the fate of humanity itself resting on his shoulders, and Connie thinks bitterly that the last thing he needs is his emotional baggage. Mikasa doesn’t seem to have the time to spare sympathy for anyone that isn’t Eren, and Armin…

“Connie? Are you alright?”

Armin is standing right in front of him.

Connie looks up, eyes too blurred with tears to see anything. He wipes his face on the rough sleeve of his jacket. Armin crouches in front of him, thick eyebrows knit in concern. Connie inhales shakily, and looks up at Armin, the smile plastered on his face false and unnerving. It doesn’t reach his tear-filled eyes.

“Armin, I’m, I’m fine, it’s fine, see, we’re all smiles here,” Connie stammers.Armin frowns. He’s clever, incredibly clever, but he doesn’t need to be to see right through Connie’s forced grin.

“Connie, there’s no point.” He says, voice soft and gentle. “You don’t need to.”

He’s being unusually succinct, but the sound of his voice is comfort enough for Connie, who lets his face fall and a breathy chuckle slip through his lips.

“I know. A moron like me could never fool you, anyway.” He sighs, but offers a smaller smile that he hopes reassures Armin somewhat.

He watches Armin’s face as his eyes flicker downwards and the corners of his mouth twitch, lips pursing. Connie opens his mouth to speak but closes it when he feels Armin’s hands on his, cautious fingers unfurling Connie’s own from the fists they were tightly balled in. Connie stares at their hands. Armin’s fingers are long and slender and bony, and they remind him of Bertholdt’s and his father’s and he sobs again, shuddering. Armin seems startled by the sudden outburst and tightens his grip on Connie’s hands.

“Connie. Shhh, Connie. Let’s go inside. Come on.” He says, shifting to a standing position and giving Connie’s hands a light tug. Connie doesn’t move.

“You don’t have to see or talk to anyone else, it’s fine. They’re all in the kitchen, we can avoid them easily. We’ll take the back door.” Armin reassures.

 After a moment, Connie stands, both soothed and slightly unnerved by Armin knowing exactly what was troubling him. Armin always had a way of doing that.

He allows Armin to lead him through the back entrance of the building; a sprawling, slightly dilapidated one-story farmhouse. Armin doesn’t loosen his grip, twining their fingers together as Connie begins to stumble, giving his hand a small squeeze. Connie’s grateful for the contact. Armin is gentle with him, unlike Sasha, whose hugs could crack ribs; or Jean, who claps him on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. Armin is cautious, Armin is kind, and Armin would never hurt him.

He’s lead in to the room that Armin informs him he will be sharing with Jean, and Connie musters the will to form a weak, jesting protest. Armin laughs brightly, but the sound rings somewhat hollow. Connie notices but decides to ignore it.

“Sorry about that. Jean’s been better with people as of late, the two of you will be fine. And you know what Eren’s going through. He needs me.” Armin smiles. Connie hears him lock the door behind them.

“But right now, you need me. Right?” asks Armin.

The pride in his voice is gone, and it wavers, insecure. Connie figures he’s looking for some kind of validation. Armin is modest, but Connie knows he wants to be valued, wants to be of some use. If anything, what Connie’s been through has made him a little sharper. A little more perceptive. A little more like Armin himself.

“I do. Thanks, man.” He nods, smiling.

 He wishes he could say more, shower Armin with praise and gratitude, but it’s the most he can muster. Armin smiles back, and pushes him down gently on to the bed, movements slightly more confident but still a little uncertain. Connie accepts this, far too tired and upset to be anything but passive. He would never have refused anyway. In an attempt to at least encourage Armin, he gives his hands a squeeze.

“I’m going to take your gear off, okay?” Armin murmurs, disentangling their fingers. Connie stares at the newly unoccupied spaces between them.

“Okay.” Connie accedes.

The bed creaks when Armin settles on it behind him, gently pulling Connie’s jacket off and setting it down beside him.

“Right now, what you need most is probably rest, I’d say. You’ve been through a lot. When did you last sleep?” asks Armin, his voice quiet by Connie’s ear.

“Three days ago, I think.” 

Armin responds with a wince. “That isn’t healthy, Connie.”

“I know.”

“Promise me you’ll try?”

“Promise.”

Armin’s hands slide slowly around Connie’s chest to pop open the buckle that sits at his sternum. He pulls the harness from Connie’s shoulders, careful to avoid tangling the straps. Connie kicks off his boots, figuring he can do at least some of the work himself, and almost jumps when he feels Armin’s hands on his hips.

“Sorry, if you don’t want me to do these, that’s fine.” Armin says. His fingers hover over the buckles affixing Connie’s chest harness to his belt, hesitant.

“Nah, s’cool. Go ahead. I want you to.”

Chest pressed against Connie’s back, Armin unfastens the clips on his belt and pulls his harness from his body with practiced ease. He’s good with his hands when he’s feeling confident, but Connie knows the way his fingers tremble when he’s afraid, how he used to haplessly fumble with his gear time and time again and work himself up to the point of tears. Things have changed since their days as trainees.

Armin slides off the bed and moves around to Connie’s front, pulling him to his feet. The gesture is unnecessary; Connie would have stood anyway, but he likes the way Armin’s fingers linger at his wrists. Armin crouches and unfastens the straps on Connie’s legs. Hands busy at Connie’s thighs, he looks up with inquisitive eyes when Connie clears his throat.

The words tumble from his mouth in a rush. “Hey, Armin. Thanks for… for this. Y’know, for being here for me, and helping me out with my gear and… and other stuff, thanks.”

Armin gives him a gentle smile that Connie returns weakly before averting his tear-rimmed eyes to the wall. Connie busies himself with undoing the belt that sits at his hips, allowing his gear to drop to the floor at his feet.

“It’s no problem, Connie.” Armin replies, picking up the tangle of belts, fastidiously untwisting and smoothing them out as he lays them down on the dresser.

Connie sits back down in the centre of the bed, staring at the wall with a focused expression. It’s clear he’s holding back tears, fists clenched again, his bottom lip quivering. Armin crosses the room and climbs on to the bed, placing his hands over Connie’s. Connie’s eyes remain fixed on the wall, but his expression calms, the furrow in his brow smoothing, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. Armin slides his fingers up his arms and grasps at the hem of his shirt, hesitant.

“May I?” he asks.

Connie accedes with a nod, and lifts his arms above his head. His shirt is pulled off, folded and placed by his jacket.

“You wear your gear loose,” notes Armin, eyeing the bruises blooming across the surface of Connie’s chest; from fresh black and blue, to faded yellow-green, to brown.

“Yeah. More give helps me turn quicker. I think. Better than chafing, at least.” Connie shrugs with a weak smile.

He’s aware of Armin’s eyes on him, of the path they travel from his chest up to his red, tear-rimmed eyes. He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. When he looks back up, Armin’s suddenly a lot closer to him. Connie can feel his breath on his face, the tips of his fingers brushing the bruises on his sides, the sag and creak of bedsprings as he leans forward. Armin’s eyes are open, his lips slightly parted in invitation. He leaves it up to Connie to close the distance between them, eyes fluttering shut as their lips touch. They kiss slowly and tenderly, Connie’s fingers tangling in Armin’s hair.

“This is gettin’ real shaggy,” he mumbles. Armin laughs, pulling back from the kiss to look Connie in the eyes.

“It is, isn’t it. Maybe I should cut it.” Armin muses.

Connie shakes his head and leans in to press soft kisses to the side of Armin’s mouth, lips travelling over his jaw and down his neck. Armin detects he’s still tense, still upset, but that he’s doing his best to forget about it. Or hide it. Armin slides his hands up Connie’s back to hold him closer.

“Nah. Keep it. Tie it up, you’d look cute.” replies Connie, grinning against the skin of Armin’s throat and giving his hair an affectionate tug. It takes Armin a great deal of effort to contain the groan that almost slips past his lips at the sensation. He reminds himself that this is not for his personal gratification; it is to take Connie’s mind off his troubles, to make him feel better. Armin’s hands roam down to rest on Connie’s thighs, and he pushes himself up so that he kneels on the bed, hoping Connie gets the message. He doesn’t.

“Should I sit in your lap? It might make things easier.” Armin proposes.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Go nuts.” says Connie.

He leans back on his palms, giving Armin room to manoeuvre himself into his lap, settling his arms over Connie’s shoulders. Armin kisses him again, doing his best to make it feel natural and comforting, but Connie simply cannot seem to relax. His hands shake at Armin’s waist, breath coming shallow and unsteady, unable to meet Armin’s eyes when the other looks at him in concern.

“Connie,” Armin says, tilting Connie’s face up and cupping his cheeks, wiping at his eyes with this thumbs. “You can cry, you know. You’ll feel better for it.”

Connie sniffs indignantly. “I’m not crying.”

“Exactly.” Armin whispers, “Just relax. Let go. It’s fine. I’m here.”

He kisses each of his eyelids before bringing their lips together, kissing Connie gently, his hands sliding down to settle on his shoulders. Connie wraps his arms around Armin’s waist to pull him closer, burying his face in Armin’s shirt. He lets himself relax, lets himself let go. The thoughts of how Armin’s hands remind him of Bertholdt’s, how his eyes remind him of his brother’s, how the kindness in his touch and his tone reminds him of Reiner all flood to the forefront of his mind, and he lets them. Armin feels the tension in his shoulders loosen, and rests his head atop Connie’s. He murmurs encouragements to Connie as he cries, tears wetting Armin’s crisp white shirt, hands clutching at his back, his whole body shaking with each sob and gasp and wail. Armin rubs soothing circles on his bare back, his touch light over the bruises on Connie’s skin.

Connie pulls away suddenly, eyes still streaming with tears, still unable to speak for sobbing, and crushes their lips together. It catches Armin off guard, but he welcomes it, meeting Connie’s desperation with gentle patience, kissing him slowly and softly, but meeting the force with which Connie moves his tongue with just as much of his own. As Armin takes Connie’s lip between his teeth, Connie breaks the kiss, wheezing for breath between sobs. He grasps at Armin’s hips clumsily, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his trousers.

“Can I finger you?” he asks bluntly. Armin shakes his head and pushes Connie’s hands from between his legs. He would have accepted the offer any other day, as Connie is nimble and skilled with his fingers, but these circumstances are different.

“This isn’t about me, Connie.” Armin says.

He sits back on his legs, trailing his hands down to the waist of Connie’s trousers, meeting his red, tear-filled eyes. “It’s about you.” He hopes Connie gets the message, and this time, he does.

Connie looks contemplative for a moment, before nodding his consent. Armin wipes the tears from his face, pressing kisses to each of his wet cheeks as he unfastens Connie’s trousers. He palms him gently over his boxers, his other hand on the back of Connie’s neck as he brings their lips together again. Connie ruts against him urgently, his breath coming shallow through parted lips, though it is more from his cries than Armin’s movements. Unable to use his mouth for more than sobbing and wailing and unintelligible mumbling, Connie gives up on the kiss, instead burying his face in the crook of Armin’s neck.

 With a sigh and a frown, Armin extracts his hand, licks it, and pushes past Connie’s waistband to wrap his fingers around his dick. He does his best to reposition them, but with Connie slumped listless on his shoulder, there is little he can do. His grip on Connie’s cock is limp and he lacks room to manoeuvre, so he settles for small, repetitive motions, fingers jerking back and forth, his focus on getting Connie off as swiftly as possible in the hope that it placates him. He can take care of the throbbing between his own legs later, though with Connie howling and weeping and wetting his shoulder with tears and snot, he doubts he will need to.

It does not take long for Connie to come with a breathless shout, hips rocking, fingers squeezing Armin’s sides tight enough to make him wince. He extracts his hand from Connie’s pants, wiping himself off on his trousers, and neatly refastening Connie’s. He places his hands on Connie’s shoulders and nudges him back, his face level with Armin’s own. His head lolls, and Armin hears a few weak sobs and sniffles, but Connie seems better than before. Armin tilts Connie’s chin up and is met with red, heavy-lidded eyes and a placid expression.

“Thanks,” Connie murmurs.

“It’s fine. Whenever you need me, I’m here.” Armin says with a small smile.

Connie nods and grabs at Armin’s shirt, lying down on the bed and dragging the other down with him. Armin is happy to follow, caging his arms around the still sniffling Connie, offering him warmth and protection and comfort. Exhausted, Connie falls asleep shortly afterwards, head tucked beneath Armin’s chin, fingers curled around a fistful of Armin’s shirt. It takes Armin a while longer to nod off, thoughts and troubles active on his mind. The soothing rise and fall of Connie’s chest and his steady breathing soon lulls Armin into his own state of slumber, their limbs tangled together, bodies close. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is..... the first fic ive ever finished/posted............ i dont know how this website works lmao. people w more experience should write connie/armin. people with no experience should write connie/armin. everyone should write connie/armin seriously why is there ZERO connie/armin on this website. shakes fist.


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